Sheer jealousy
by Rose de Sharon
Summary: Ever wondered what the village's priest had in mind, and what were his reasons to hate Balian?


**Sheer jealousy**

Author: Rose de Sharon

Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I owned Balian and Godfrey, I'd be the happiest woman on Earth! ;-)

Author's notes: a few details are made up, so this story is AU. English is not my native language and this story hasn't been beta-readed, all mistakes are mine. UPDATED with new details coming from the DVD's "director cut", some of the story lines have been changed.

Summary: ever wondered what the village's worm-like priest had in his mind?

Feedback: Yes, please! ;-)

Archives: story is dedicated to Rayakina, with my thanks for writing such a nice feedback.

This is the happiest day of my life.

Of course, as a priest, I can't show out my emotions and besides, anyone who'd think that supervising the burial of a suicide woman in cold weather as being a joyful moment would be crazy. But this is the happiest day of my life.

The woman we are burying is Anne, the late wife of my dreaded young brother, Balian the blacksmith. I've called him Balian the Bastard since the day I've learned my father wasn't Balian's, just his namesake. Even if my father slapped me for it, I've always called Balian a bastard because that's who he is: the son of an unfaithful woman, the spawn of the Devil.

Oh, I do know our mother (may she rot in Hell) has told Balian time and time again that his father was a knight who left for the Holy Land years ago. For years now, every women bearing children out of wedlock have pretended the father sailed to Jerusalem. How convenient! But her lies must have worked since Balian has always been different from the rest of the people from our village.

My father wanted to keep Balian's origins a secret, as he considered it was family business and no one had to interfere with it. But I had plans of my own: as soon as I could, I told my playmates (a bunch of idiots) the truth about my little brother. It wasn't long before the scandal was spread all over the village, and I took great pleasure watching the neighbors whispering behind my mother's back. Oh, they wouldn't have dared mocking my father, since he was the powerfully built village's blacksmith, but those cowards had a field day with my mother and her bastard! Every time she came back from the market with her eyes full of tears, or when Balian came home with traces of fighting all over his face, I felt an enormous joy.

For a moment, I thought my father would get rid of Balian, but to no avail. Balian wanted to become a blacksmith and my father took him as his apprentice, spending all his time with him. What about ME? I was his full-blooded son! So what if I didn't want to learn how to make a living? Breaking my back over a plough, an anvil, or a weaving loom? Too much sweat and fatigue for a man like me!

I decided to become a priest: three hot meals every day, a comfy bed, a lot of consideration for a few prayers per day. That's the life! I faked learning how to read and write Latin at the monastery and it worked, soon enough I was nominated priest of my native village. When I came back, I thought it wouldn't be difficult to fill the minds of my flock with fear to gain their respect and obedience, thus throwing Balian out of the village forever.

But my plan failed: during my absence, Balian has gained quite a reputation as a blacksmith and he had learned an education as well: as a reward for his good work, our bishop taught him how to read and write. The family's bastard can read Latin better than me, where is the justice in this? Our local lord gave him loads of work for his castle, his horses or his weapons. And Balian knows how to work! How many times I've prayed God for my so-called brother to be blamed for a collapsed structure, a damaged sword or even an ill-fitted horseshoe! But never was he accused of laziness or incompetence.

The villagers relied on him for their tools, cartwheels and cattle so they hid the resentment I have slowly nurtured into their minds for years. Our mother died five years ago, I didn't pray for her. My father passed away two years ago, I pretended to pray for him.

And then, Balian committed the supreme insult. He married Anne, our late baker's daughter.

Anne, the loveliest woman of our village, I wanted her for years. When I became a priest, I decided my celibacy and chastity vows wouldn't stop me to possess her body. But she had eyes only for Balian and the good looks he probably inherited from his imaginary noble father. I warned her time and time again about compromising herself with this Devil's spawn, but she never listened. Once I tried to take her by force in the village's church, but she slapped me so hard across the face I thought she had broken my jaw. She said she would tell Balian about my actions and I threatened her with Hell, demons, unborn babies, and bastards hanging at the end of a rope. Anne was finally frightened enough to be silenced, otherwise my dear brother would have rammed a hot-fired bar of iron through my body!

I had to celebrate their wedding and it was the worst day of my life. When Anne got pregnant, I thought nothing could stop the bastard's triumph. But the Devil has finally answered my prayers: Anne committed suicide shortly after delivering a stillborn daughter.

Oh, the joy I felt! Anne was punished for her marriage; her daughter for having a bastard father and she didn't live long enough to be christened, thus barring her the access to Heaven; and Balian was twice punished for being born. I have pronounced terrible sermons against suicide and out-of-wedlock children: now, there are no doubts in the villagers' superstitious minds that this double tragedy happened because of Balian's origins. As soon as Anne is buried (outside the village's ground and near the road's cross, as traditions requested), I will use my influence to have Balian cast out of our lives forever. And no one will stand on my way!

I have cornered two villagers into accepting the chore to bury Anne. It hasn't been difficult: Martin almost raped his 8-year-old daughter while drunk and François has recently stolen some money from his father. They make fine undertakers for a suicide! I bent over Anne's corpse as the wind has blown away the shroud from her face: even in death, she's beautiful, but now I feel only resentment towards her. She should have agreed to become my mistress; it was her duty to please ME and not my brother!

A flash of grey catches my eyes: Anne is wearing her silver cross pendant around her neck. I remember when she told her friends about it: Balian has made the pendant himself from two silver coins he had worked hard to earn. Anne had giggled about his fiancé being a silversmith as well as a blacksmith, and then she said she would wear this cross forever.

Not forever, my lovely! I grab the silver cross and pull at the leather cord: the rusty catch breaks and I hide the necklace swiftly in my cloak's pocket. Martin and François are too busy digging the grave to notice. I feel absolutely no remorse: by her actions, Anne has forfeited her access to Paradise; she isn't worthy of anything, least bearing a cross. Stealing from a suicide woman is not a sin, besides I have taken objects from corpses many times in the past!

The sound of horses' hooves makes me raise my head: it's a mounted troop coming straight to us. I see floating banners and armed men on well-fed horses, it's a lord's escort! François looks up, and mutters:

"Crusaders".

Why would crusaders come to our little village? Probably visiting our local lord, I remember one of his sons left for the Holy Land years ago, I don't even remember his name. An esquire rides up towards us, and asks:

"Clear the path, if you please."

I notice to Martin and François to pick up their tools and to withdraw quickly: we must clear the way for the visiting lord. We bow, but I can't help looking up at the troop from the corner of my eyes.

A man wearing a dark cloth with a white cross painted on… That makes him a Hospitaler monk.

Men in armor holding the banners, a lord's guards.

A blond knight wearing his hair braided like a woman.

Oh my God… There's a dark-skinned heathen with them! He wears a richly decorated armor and he drinks from his flask greedily. I've never thought one of those dreaded Saracens would come in France! I am so afraid by his appearance I can't help swaying on my feet a bit, thus earning me an amused glance from the Hospitaler.

The tallest man of the troop is a lord, easily recognizable by the heavy sword at his side. He wears a chain mail shirt, a steel hat, and a heavy coat of deep-red color to protect him from the cold and the light snow, which has been falling since morning. The lord looks tired and worn, yet he has an air of quiet authority that just commands you to obey. I bow lower, with the hopes that the lord will talk to me but he doesn't even look at me! No, he casts a sad glance at Anne's corpse and rides away, not bothering to salute me, a man of the cloth!

The troop is finally on its way, and I feel furious: anger swells inside me at the dark-skinned stranger who has frightened me, at the Hospitaler who mocked me, and at the lord who didn't even acknowledged me. A brief call of _"Esquire!"_ makes the last rider catch up with his master, and I dare lift my head: sure enough, the troop is riding towards our village. I have to know why those noble Crusaders want to reach the place where flea-infested peasants live.

I decide to run after them, to offer my services as a temporary guide. If the lord is pleased with my help, maybe he'll donate a few coins for our church… but mostly for my pockets?

Just before leaving, I order François to behead Anne's body: I want to make absolutely sure her time in Hell will be as atrocious as possible. I also remind that thief to bring back the axe. It belongs to me!

I wrap myself in my coat and run after the lord's troop.

(Later)

"Leave me alone with this man", says the lord.

We are at Balian's forge since the Hospitaler told me they needed food and their horses shod. My mourning brother has been working hard on those dreaded beasts while the guards and the knights have been munching theirs lunches (mostly bread, cheese and chicken, with poor wine). For two hours now I have been trying to "sell" my brother to these crusaders, hoping to convince them they could use a blacksmith for their journey to the Holy Land.

You see, I've got a plan: our bishop protects Balian since his blacksmith skills are needed in our new church's construction. Our local lord appreciates his work and the villagers are too cowardly to ask for his removal. Even my sister-in-law's suicide won't change our bishop's mind, so I've decided to take the matter into my own hands: Balian must go, but I needed a reason to persuade him to leave the village forever. And, as soon as he leaves, I will confiscate his house and his forge in the name of the Church.

Those crusaders are an answer to my prayers: they are men of war so they constantly need repairs for their chain shirts, armors and swords. Their beasts need care and horseshoes all year along. A few years ago, Balian was recruited in one of our lord's fights against one of his rivals and, in addition of blacksmith works, he had learned how to built war machines there! Our lord had sung his praises when he came back and, at the time, it had highly irritated me. My bastard brother, the war hero!

But now, I can use Balian's knowledge to my advantage. Those crusaders can't overlook that they are currently eating at the house of a man who knows weapons, horses, war engineering. I know those men recruit on the road every man who can be useful for them, with promises of redemption or gold in the Holy Land. That's why I have been boasting my brother's skills to those men, an action costing me a lot of my pride! But for some reason, no one has been listening to me: the black-skinned heathen is entertaining the village's children, the lord and the Hospitaler monk are talking quietly between themselves, the guards are munching on their food. Only the blond-haired knight with a foreign accent is asking Balian questions about his work, and he had dared giving me a dirty look when I interrupted him!

I managed to snatch a few bites of the guards' lunches, with the promise of a prayer for them (a promise I have no intention to keep!). Balian has barely answered to the blond-manned knight's questions and Rémi, his snot-nosed apprentice, is too impressed by the troop to dare mutter a word. In fact, Balian's attitude is almost rude: he bangs on his anvil without stopping, as if he wanted to pound his misery within the metal. His mourning can't serve as an excuse to be disrespectful towards a lord, who has deigned visiting his forge!

When the lord with the sad eyes ask us to leave, we obeyed at once of course. For a moment, I even thought he was going to teach Balian a lesson in etiquette, but he just tells him:

"I am sorry you have lost your wife and child… I too have lost."

Balian raises his head, stopping his infernal banging. His eyes betray the surprise he felt hearing the sympathetic words of the lord. Since Anne's death, all he has heard were promises of Hell for his wife, his daughter and himself. But soon enough, Balian goes back to work: he cannot believe a lord could be compassionate towards a low-life bastard like himself.

"Some says that Jerusalem is the center of the world to seek forgiveness. As for me, I seek it here… and now."

Interesting! I may have been cast out of the forge, but my hearing is just fine and I don't miss a word of their conversation. This lord has been in Jerusalem before; he could even have lived there for years, gaining riches beyond the imagination! Before I can stop myself, I dream of golden palaces, pearls and gems snatched from the corpses of slaughtered infidels, Muslims and Jew women sold into slavery…

Balian is trying to busy himself with a horseshoe again, but this time his concentration is slipping. The lord doesn't raise his voice, but his next words sound like thunder:

"I _knew_ your mother. To be courteous, I can say I knew her in spite of her objections: I was the lord's brother, and she didn't have any choice. But I swear to you, I've never used violence. I _loved _her… in my own way."

What? My mother, that lower-than-earth woman, knew this man in the Biblical way, a lord? That's impossible! Noblemen don't have relationships with peasant women, apart from sluts or rape victims. And then he swears he didn't rape her, he loved her! How could he have ever compromised himself with that woman?

"Balian… I am your father."

No. _No! _This is the last straw! Balian is the bastard of a noble lord, a rich man!

In my surprise, I drop my lunch on the ground: once again, Balian has proved himself being superior to me. By his looks, his skills, his marriage, and now his origins! When the villagers learn of Balian's father, they will never bow quickly enough in front of him, and I'll be the laughing stock of the whole community! The priest who didn't know his half-brother is of noble blood!

Rémi, Balian's apprentice, has heard the lord's confession as well. Before I can do anything, he quietly puts down his tools before slipping out of the forge. By no doubts, he's going to run home to tell the whole story to his mother Catherine, the fastest tongue of the village, mistress of gossips. Before sunset, everyone will learn who the blacksmith's father is.

I remember our mother on her deathbed, refusing to admit that she had lied for years about Balian's father, despite my insistences.

_I remember my father, slapping me every time I mocked Balian about him being a bastard._

_I remember Anne, yelling at my face about her fiancé being nobler that I could ever dream to be._

But before I can work out an escape plan, the lord asks Balian (his son!) to forgive him.

Balian says nothing.

The lord then gives his name – Godfrey, Baron of Ibelin – and asks Balian to travel to Jerusalem with him.

Balian refuses, saying his place was here, at his forge.

Oh, no! Why doesn't he leave for Jerusalem? He'll get killed there sooner or later, and my reputation will be saved!

Lord Godfrey doesn't insist, and gets ready to leave. But just before riding, he tells Balian his route: down South, towards Italy, to the port of Messina before leaving to the Holy Land by boat.

Balian says nothing, but his gaze is fixed on his… father, who salutes him before riding out to his men. A few of the village's children follow the lord's horse while screaming and laughing, and I wish the horse could trample one of two of them in the process.

Balian MUST go to Jerusalem. I don't care if he saves his wife's soul there, or his father's, or everyone else's for the matter. If Godfrey of Ibelin gives him a living, turning Balian into the champion of the Holy City, who would be the wiser in this village? But he has to GO, before my reputation is ripped into shreds!

I will pay him a visit tonight, at his forge.

THE END!


End file.
